


gets hard when you give a fuck

by trite



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29713788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trite/pseuds/trite
Summary: There’s something in the air on Kef Bir. Or at least, that’s what Hux says.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41
Collections: Proximity Flash





	gets hard when you give a fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



Poe doesn’t regret taking Hux with them — talking him into it, even — but if he had paused to consider how that would play out, it would have been something more like: taking Hux, depositing him back on base, and not dealing with him unless he had to. It would not have looked like this: carrying him around the galaxy with them. And it definitely wouldn’t have involved putting up with all his complaining.

Rey leaves for the wreckage and Finn goes after her. It follows that someone has to stick around to watch Hux. No good deed, indeed.

Poe sees him in the distance; the black of his uniform interrupting the grey sky, the green grass. Hux is glaring even before Poe reaches him. Even if Poe couldn’t see him, he would know. He’s radiating a strong, inescapable, displeased energy.

“Kriffing Force nonsense," he says succinctly when Poe stands in front of him. He’s sitting carefully on a broken rock, the heel of his formerly pristine boots dirtying with the dust that seems to cling to the air around them. “Couldn’t pick a less unpleasant remote rock for its mystical wreck.”

He scratches frantically at his wrist, under the fabric of his tunic, for a moment and Poe notices he’s taken his gloves off.

Poe grabs his hands and stills his movements. “Did you get stung by something?” His palms are red and blotchy and so is the skin on his wrist. “What did you touch?”

“It’s something in the atmosphere.” It figures that Hux, who is used to the sterile surfaces of starships wouldn’t be able to handle the outside for long periods of time. “Not all of us are accustomed to traipsing around backwater moons,” he says.

He moves his hands to his neck and scratches desperately under the collar of his tunic, leaving the red imprint of his nails behind.

“It’s probably an allergic reaction.” Poe moves to intercept Hux’s hands. “You’re making it worse.”

Poe moves his fingers lightly over the scratches; red, angry, and vivid against his pale skin. He only brushes the pad of his fingers over them but as soon as he does, Hux lets out a decidedly sexual groan, moving incrementally closer to push Poe’s fingertips more firmly against his skin.

He quickly moves his hand away, deciding that the day has been weird enough without him indulging Hux’s kinks.

“Put it back,” Hux says.

“No, finger your own scratches,” he says with a laugh but Hux immediately moves his hand to presumably do just that. “No, that wasn’t a suggestion.” He tilts Hux’s head toward the light and takes a closer look at the marks, keeping his thumb under his chin and two of his fingers against his pulse point. “How did you even get these? Did you do this to yourself?” Poe knows Hux isn’t exactly well-adjusted but his scratches run deep and look painful.

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding a little dazed, which is a marked change from sounding angry, outraged, and generally displeased.

“Don’t touch them, you might get them infected.” It’s honestly a little gross-looking but Poe is working on his tact so he doesn’t say that. “Come on, let’s go back to the ship.”

After a brief — too brief — couple of minutes of silence, Hux starts complaining again. “This is all your fault.”

Poe doesn’t immediately deny it because plenty of things have been his fault in the past year, so Hux might have a point. “What is?” he asks, just to be certain.

“I didn’t know coming with you would involve a tour of the most dreadful nowhere places in the galaxy.”

“Yeah, I don’t fault you for favoring a version of events that would end with you getting caught and killed. At least then you would’ve been in the comfort of your own home.”

“I had a plan. I wouldn’t—” he starts but falters mid-sentence, probably realizing that his plan wasn’t as smart as he originally thought it was and that it would have inevitably led to failure.

Poe is familiar with the feeling, so he reassuringly says, “we’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“You don’t even know when your Jedi _friends_ will be back,” he says, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘friends.’

“Did they teach you to eavesdrop in the Order? That conversation did not involve you.” Poe feels irrationally annoyed that he learned that his best friend could use the Force at the same moment that Hux, of all people, did.

“I’m glad I was around to hear it. I don’t suppose you would have told me you were harboring more than one Force user in your midst.”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“Spoken like someone who hasn’t had the misfortune of being at the mercy of Force users.”

Poe turns to him. “Really?”

Hux doesn’t reply but Poe can see him clenching his jaw. After a moment he can also see him move his hand back to his neck.

He reaches for Hux’s hand, pressing his thumb against his pulse, his nail against the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. “Stop that. If you keep scratching your neck you’ll make yourself bleed.”

Poe keeps walking and it takes him a few seconds to realize that Hux isn’t following. He’s farther away than where Poe last left him, leaning back against a tree. Its leaves are long but threadlike, broken in multiple places and letting the sun filter through, not providing much shade. Maybe Hux is just tired from the very short walk.

Poe sighs, annoyed yet unsurprised by Hux’s theatrics and obvious attention-seeking behavior. He makes his way to him and says, “what?”

Hux sways a little in his direction, gripping his arms, and getting in his personal space. Very much inside his personal bubble. “This is your fault,” he says.

“Haven’t we gone through this already?” Poe starts to say but is stopped by Hux grinding his hard dick against him.

He is too stunned to react for the first few seconds and that’s all it takes for Hux to come, slumping against him.

Poe laughs incredulously. “It is not my fault that just the sight of me gets you hard and makes you come in your pants, man.” It’s a little flattering and a little funny, but it’s fucking weird when he can feel Hux still hard against his hip.

“Something on this place is doing this,” he says and starts to jerkily thrust against Poe again, his hands going to each side of Poe’s hips, his grip firm and steady.

“Let me guess, if you don’t get off you’ll die? You’ve watched too many skin holos, man. That’s not an actual thing.”

Poe moves his hands to Hux’s wrists to push him away but at that moment Hux shivers and sighs, his features relaxing for a second, his head thrown back, his throat exposed.

Poe swallows and looks away. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“I need to keep going,” he says, an appealing strain of desperation coming through his words. He moves closer to him and Poe feels him again.

“That can’t be normal. There’s something wrong with you.” A pause and then he adds, “and yes, I know I’m not saying anything you haven’t already heard hundreds of times throughout the past thirty-four years of your life."

“I’m thirty-five," he snaps, self-aware enough to know he can’t refute the rest of what Poe said, but accidentally implying he’s been hearing that since he was a baby.

“The point is, you can’t keep going because you might be making it worse.”

“It feels good,” he says, uncharacteristically unconcerned, and yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“We don’t know what this is doing to you. Beyond the obvious.” Poe doesn’t have any alternatives to offer, though.

Hux knows it as well because the next words out of his mouth, gritted out from behind clenched teeth are, “there’s no one else.”

Maybe he means _no one else around_ which is accurate unless they want to bring a group of former Stormtroopers into the equation and Poe doubts anyone wants to do that. Maybe he means _no one else who would be willing to do it_ which is not an inaccurate reading of their situation, regardless of who is present or absent.

 _What would doctor Kalonia do?_ Poe thinks. Probably not offer Hux a hand. Poe can’t be anyone but himself, though.

“Okay, go ahead. But tell me if it gets worse,” he says, trying to maintain some semblance of best practices here.

Hux moves them against the tree until Poe is pressing him against the bark of it and slides down a little, slotting one leg between Poe’s thighs and moving his hips against him.

It feels weird and awkward to be detached from the situation, from the fact that a person is literally getting off not just in front of him but against him, so when Hux says, “you could lend some assistance,” Poe only hesitates for a moment.

He does, however, hesitate when he moves his hands to the front of Hux’s jodhpurs. There are no buttons or zippers or any hints as to how Poe might get his hands inside them.

Hux impatiently bats his hands away and performs some complicated-looking maneuvers as he clasps and unclasps several pieces of fabric until Poe can get at his dick. It’s hard, hot, red, and wet; twitches in Poe’s hand when he grips it.

“Tighter,” Hux pants. And then, “no, tighter,” and repeats it until Poe has his cock in a painful vice-like grip. He moans loudly, wantonly, and throws his head back, his hair falling out of place with the motion.

Hux makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat, and moves closer, his breath coming out warm and heavy where it reaches Poe’s skin. His hand moves between them, searching, hurried.

Even through the layer of clothing, the pressure of Hux’s hand is there, the friction, the promise of more, and Poe finds myself reacting. Reacting to Hux.

Hux shifts again, his thigh rubbing more firmly against him, and Poe’s hips stutter as Hux moves his hands to hips, pulling him closer, rolling his own hips more insistently, trying to get their bodies to move together.

“Hey, wait,” Poe says, trying to slow him down or stop him altogether.

“I want to. This will make it better,” he says, like a brand new discovery.

“No, Hux, let’s just get you off. Nice and easy. Come on.” He steps back a little, pushing Hux more firmly against the tree.

Poe focuses on keeping his grip on Hux sure and steady; tight, how he likes it. The things he has unwillingly learned about Hux today, he thinks. He lets himself get a little lost in it, in the motion of his hand, the rapid rise and fall of Hux’s chest, his labored breath. It has been a really long day.

When Hux comes this time, his breath hitches and his lips part, his flush spreads under his high collar. He looks like he could be anyone, anyone Poe might have met in a cantina somewhere, anyone Poe could’ve hooked up with years ago. He looks raw and vulnerable.

Hux pants openmouthed against his chest afterward, his weight heavy and warm, his features further obscured by the way his hair falls in his eyes.

“Are you okay now? Do you still need—?” Poe asks.

“I’m alright, yes,” Hux says, his voice a little shaky and strained.

Poe moves away, tries to disentangle them, and feels Hux’s hand twitch and his fingers flex where he’s clutching at Poe’s shirt. The moment stretches for a few quiet seconds before Hux pushes him away and moves to rearrange his clothes.

No matter how hard he tries, the result isn’t very good. He looks well-fucked. His clothes are in disarray, his hair keeps falling in his eyes even after he tries to tame it back into its usual shellacked style, he’s flushed all over, and his lips are bitten red from when he tried to suppress his noises.

Poe looks toward the ocean instead. Looks at the strong, powerful, and dangerous current that’s in front of them. The insanity of wading in there.

“What exactly is the plan?” Hux asks, which is not one of Poe’s favorite questions today.

He doesn’t always have a good answer, or any kind of answer, and is occasionally tempted to reply with _I don’t know, wanna help me brainstorm?_ which would not be very helpful or confidence-inspiring. “We keep going. Go back to the ship.” He starts walking in that direction again, resuming their previous trek, following Hux’s lead and putting this moment behind them.

Hux follows at a respectable distance, the space between remaining more or less undisturbed despite the past few minutes. “And then we get out of here?”

“No, we check on repairs first. We might need to spend the night.”

“What about your friends?” Hux asks.

Poe sighs. “Look, it’s a work in progress, okay?”

“Meaning you’ll figure it out as you go along.”

“Yeah, exactly that.” He hears the defensiveness in his voice but it’s too late to take it back. “I know this isn’t the approach you’re used to but—”

“What I’m used to didn’t exactly serve me well.” He gives Poe a long, considering look. “I’m not entirely opposed to trying things your way,” he says before walking ahead.

Well, it's a start, Poe thinks.


End file.
